


The Beat That My Heart Skipped

by dancinbutterfly



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bad-ass cakes, Boys Kissing, Brothers, Business, Friends to Lovers, Frilly Cakes, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Addiction, Pining, Teamwork, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Umbrella Academy Cakes is known all over the Tri-State area for its fantastic and realistic custom cakes. What goes on inside the bakery is almost as complicated as the culinary art Gerard and his team produce. Ace of Cakes!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beat That My Heart Skipped

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the announcement of The Black Parade/Living With Ghost release, I'm finally posting my first ever bandom fic. I had a really terrible stomach bug in early fall of '09 and my dear friend Robyn said "Watch Life on the Murder Scene. You'll like it. Then you can read the fic." So I did. Three times. In between that I mainlined every episode of Ace of Cakes I could get my greedy little hands on - which wasnt a lot back then when all we had were torrents. This was the result but it got me into the game and gave me some of the greatest people, times, and feelings of my life. 
> 
> Please remember this was written by a seven years ago me and enjoy with all the grains of salt that entails. But I hope you do enjoy it anyway :D
> 
> For [turlough](turlough.dreamwidth.org) \- who loves this fic more and harder than anyone, probably even me.

i>Umbrella Academy Cakes is located in a small, ugly brick warehouse in the Meat Packing district of Manhattan. The door has a stencil of an umbrella protecting a slice of cake from a diagonal onslaught of rain. If you walked past it, without knowing what it was, you would never even know it was there.

~*~*~

“Client wants a Godzilla cake for their son’s bar mitzvah.”

Gerard glances at Brian from where he stands, elbow deep in fondant that he’s trying to cover a replica of an elephant with. “Classic subtitles in black and white Godzilla, or crappy Matthew Broderick Godzilla?”

“Fuck you, Way.” Brian folds his arms and pushes back a little from his desk. The glare he fixes on Gerard is clearly the _you don’t pay me enough to put up with your shit and get treated like an amateur_ look. Gerard has the good grace to look sheepish. 

“I had to check. We can’t start something until I know what I’m doing.”

Brian shakes his head. “Your faith in me is amazing. Who do you think I am? Seriously?”

“An angel sent directly from heaven to keep me from bankruptcy.”

Brian picks up one of a dozen stress balls sitting on his desk and hurls it at Gerard. It misses him and cracks Ray in the head before dropping to the ground. Unfortunately, Ray’s moving a pan full of chocolate cake batter to the oven for Worm at the time, and his sudden stop splashes chocolate batter down the front of his shirt.

“The fuck, Schechter?”

“That’s why you should wear an apron,” Mikey calls from across the bakery. Gerard has no idea how he can see from the corner he’s working in, but then Mikey’s made of magic and always has been. It’s why Gerard called him when he first opened the shop. Well, that and no one else would work with him back then.

“Sorry, Ray.” 

“Lunch,” Ray snaps and continues to the ovens. That’s fair. Gerard can cover Ray’s lunch for this. He incited the incident after all.

“So, Godzilla? Old school?”

“Yeah. Rosenblum bar mitzvah. The parents booked us like ... six months ago, remember?”

No. He doesn't remember. He needs someone to be his brain so that he can get on with the business of making cake live. It’s art, what he and his team does. It’s art that people can enjoy with their eyes and their taste buds. He’s good at it. He’s just not good at everything that goes into making that possible. That’s what he keeps Brian for.

Brian sighs. Brian has about a million completely unique sighs and this one is _why do I even bother to ask_. “Well, the bar mitzvah is Saturday. So you’ve got a week for that, and the Bianchi-Coleman wedding’s Friday.”

Gerard pulls his hands carefully out from beneath the fondant. He looks at it, scratches at his temple for a moment before he realizes that flaking royal icing is coming off his fingers and staining his eyebrows. Then he looks at Brian. “They the one with the swan wedding cake?”

“No, they’ve got the Cerberus groom’s cake. The guy’s a classical scholar or something.”

Gerard can’t help but grin. That’s going to be tricky but if he can pull it off, it’s going to rock the fuck out. “Awesome. I love the Bianchi-Colemans.”

“I took that meeting. You never actually met them.”

“Still, they want to include a three-headed hellhound in their wedding reception. They’re clearly people we should party with.”

“Yeah, they’re fucking metal,” Brian mutters, his attention returning to his computer. Gerard laughs and turns to look at his kitchen. 

Support first – metal for the three heads, probably. The way to go for Godzilla is probably a big cake block, carved and reinforced from the inside with wooden dowels. He’s not sure what he’s going to do about the head, but as long as he keeps structure in mind, it’ll be okay. 

Bob’s working on painting a wedding cake in the back, so he can’t start on the Cerberus cake yet. Gerard’s not allowed to use the welding torch anymore. It’s his shop but the staff came together after he burned off his eyebrows and scorched one of the prep tables, and agreed that he wasn’t allowed to weld, smelt, or use any sort of metal-melting torch anymore. 

Sometimes he forgets that Umbrella Academy Cakes is his business with the way they all boss him around. Most of the time he likes it that way. It frees him up to do the fun stuff, like figure out how to make a plane cake with a working propeller. 

He settles in a chair at one of the prep tables and starts sketching the Godzilla cake. He could always do just the lizard, standing alone angry and fresh out of the Pacific, but what made Godzilla such a bad ass was the way he tore up Tokyo. So he makes a note for Brian to make sure Worm bakes extra cake for the city and starts drawing.

~*~*~ 

Cerberus’s middle head falls off twice before Gerard and Bob manage to get it to stay. And they have to put Mikey in the back of the van to hold it as they make their way uptown. 

“Don’t trip.”

“Shut up Mikey.”

“Don’t trip.”

“I’m not going to trip, stop it.”

“No, seriously, there’s steps behind you.”

“I hate you.”

“Up.”

“Seriously, if I didn’t need you to finish the piping on Godzilla I would kill you right now.”

“You have your hands full.”

“Semantics.”

They make it into the reception hall of the hotel without tripping or ruining the cake. Gerard and Mikey manage to get it settled on the table in time for the bride and groom to come in and see. 

This is the part that Gerard lives for. The way eyes get big and smiles get bigger, and you can just see people’s joy. He gets to do something special for special moments in people’s lives that make them even better. It’s moments like this that remind him why he chose pastry school over art school. 

“This is amazing,” the bride says. She’s got bright pink hair and her wedding dress is white gothic chic like something out of a 14th century painting, and she’s smiling so brightly that it’s almost blinding. “It looks like it could bite me.”

“We should bite first,” the groom says with a laugh. 

“Glad you like it,” Gerard says with a smile. 

“You have to stay for the reception, at least a little while,” the bride says. “I mean, look at what you did! You have to take credit for this.”

He already did. The expression on their faces and the check the Brian promised has cleared is really enough. And besides, he’s a big believer that a piece should speak for itself. “No, really-“

“It’s cool,” Mikey says. “I’ll go finish the piping on downtown Tokyo, and you can take the subway back. Or you could just go home.” He looks at Gerard meaningfully over the rim of his glasses to make it clear that he shouldn’t fucking come back to the shop tonight, because he keeps forgetting to sleep and it would fuck up the cake if he passed out in it. 

“Fantastic.” The bride takes him by the hand and drags him away from the table while Mikey stands with the groom and laughs. Gerard manages to shoot the bird over his shoulder at his brother before she pulls him into the loose crowd of wedding guests on the opposite end of the hall. 

She gushes over him, and that’s kind of uncomfortable. Gerard loves it when people love his cakes. That’s the point after all. But he doesn't really like it when the client shows him off. It’s not a new experience. He’s been fed and presented at more events than he can remember in the years since he opened Umbrella Academy, and he’s not a fan. 

He usually tunes it out, thinking about the orders he’s got, how he’s going to engineer his next piece. Today he’s drafting the USS Enterprise cake that someone commissioned in his head when the bride squeezes his arm, says his name, and drags him back to reality, where Frank Iero’s standing in front of him. In a fucking tuxedo. That settles it. The universe is just so fucking far from fair.

“- and Frank said you were the best and we had to come to you,” the bride finishes, the barely restrained energy making her thick skirt rustle. The she turns and looks over her shoulder. “That’s my nana. I’ve got to run, you know how it is.” She leans over and kisses Gerard’s cheek. “Thank you so much, it was perfect. He loved it.”

Gerard swallows hard as she disappears into the crowd of congratulatory guests, leaving him alone with Frank. Frank works for the supply company where Gerard gets pretty much everything from modeling chocolate to flour to dragées to gum paste. He’s small but strong, and watching him carry heavy buckets of baking materials into Umbrella Academy is always the highlight of Gerard’s week. Gerard can usually pretend that Frank doesn't have a girlfriend he adores while Frank’s making deliveries.

“Doesn’t hurt that it’s true,” Frank says, and Gerard realizes suddenly that Frank’s talking to him. He blushes a little and shrugs. 

“I didn’t know you knew them.”

“Bobby’s my cousin,” Frank says with a grin. “The mothers didn’t quite get the wedding theme and forced all the guys into these monkey suits. Something about the pictures. I don’t know. I draw the line at a bow tie.” He waves a tattooed hand as he speaks. The cufflink in his shirt sleeve is a silver Jolly Roger, and it’s kind of perfect.

“I’ve heard cameras can steal your soul.” He learned a lot of random camera facts last year when Brian took the Nikon order. That one’s way more interesting than how mirrors make the pictures look upside down or film processes light. It’s also kind of lame, but Frank laughs. 

“As far as I can tell it’s still there. So what’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t do gatherings.” 

“I don’t, but you’re not allowed to say no to the bride on her wedding day. I think it’s a law. Even if it’s not, my mom would kill me.” Also, he likes weddings. He just likes them better from in the kitchen or another location far away.

“My dad threatened me at gun point. So, how long’d this one take you?” Frank asks, gesturing towards the Cerberus cake.

“A few days.”

Frank grins. “That’s so sick. I still can’t believe you guys do that. It’s unreal. I saw it earlier. You put foam in its mouths. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Fly. I can’t fly. I also can’t teleport or read minds. Actually, anything the X-men can do, I can’t.”

“Well, if I stumble on any radioactive animals, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I appreciate that,” Gerard says with a smile, and this almost feels normal. They’re just friends, good friends. He doesn't want to jump Frank’s bones, feel said bones under his fingers and tongue. 

“Speaking of appreciation, while I’ve got you here, me and Jamia finally set a date. Her sister works overseas and can only get back in town for a little while. So we’re scrambling like crazy to get everything done before next month, and it’d be an insanely big help if you and Umbrella Academy could do the cakes.”

Gerard’s head is nodding, but he’s screaming for himself to stop, stop it. Don’t nod. Do not aid and abet that marriage. But Frank’s his friend, one of his best friends, in fact, deep seated lust aside, and he can’t say no. He’s never turned down a friend’s request for a cake before. He can’t start now.

“Just call Brian, let him know what you want. We’ll go from there.”

“Thanks, Gee. You’re a life saver, you don’t even fucking know. She was driving herself crazy.” 

Frank gives him a quick, man-appropriate hug, and it’s moments like this when Gerard wishes to Christ that he were still drinking. Because that hug, with the back-slap and the space between them, coupled with the fact that Frank’s getting married – fucking married – are exactly the sort of catalysts that would’ve sent him in search of something brain-cell-annihilating. 

Instead, he stays at the fringes of the party until he’s sure that Mikey has gone home, and heads back to the shop. 

~*~*~

“Fuck, ow!” Gerard comes awake to someone punching his shoulder. He’s so stunned he nearly falls off the couch in his office, but a pair of legs pressed against the cushions stop the fall.

“I thought Mikey told you not to come back here.”

Gerard blinks up at Brian, standing over him in the low light. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost six. Why do you even pay rent on an apartment if you’re always here?”

“We don’t have a shower.”

“Like you use yours.”

Gerard can’t actually argue with that. A lot of times he’s too tired to bother. “What’re you doing here?” 

Brian taps his legs, and Gerard pulls them back so that there’s room for Brian on the couch. Once he’s seated, Gerard straightens his legs so that they rest across his lap.

“I’m always here this early. You just don’t usually need to get up until the guys get here and start coffee.”

“Did you bring coffee?”

Brian sighs and picks something up off the floor. It’s a metallic coffee thermos, and he hands it to Gerard. It’s pretty basic, home brewed Folgers with too much sugar, but wow, he really doesn't care. 

“I love you,” Gerard mumbles around the lip of the cup, and Brian just shakes his head. 

“The Godzilla cake’s due today, remember? It’s got to be ready when the bar mitzvah ends at noon, so you’ve got about three minutes to finish my coffee and get out there. The tail separated while you were sleeping.” 

“Fuck.” He’d been up until two in the morning working on detailing on the cityscape. He’d been so frazzled he hadn’t thought to check the tail. 

“And Iero called me last night.”

Gerard coughs. The lid of the mug is suddenly very interesting. He’s fairly sure that the secrets of life the universe and everything reside in the shape of the plastic.

“Gerard-“

“What’d he say?” Brian’s not looking at him. He’s tracing a small indentation in the denim of Gerard’s jeans with his thumbnail. “Brian?”

“He mostly asked about price and when they could see you. Jamia’s coming in after the Rosenblum delivery to talk to you about design. And I told him we’d get her an estimate then.”

“You’re not going to charge Frank for his wedding cake, Brian.”

“You don’t have to take this one. We’ve got more than enough on our schedule.” Brian’s hand flattens, curling around Gerard’s leg, and it’s kind of nice. Heavy. Solid. Like a string tied to a balloon so that it doesn’t just float away. It also reminds Gerard of the way he used to chase after this, back when he was drunk and desperate and hurting all the time. Brian used to feel like the only thing that could keep him from spinning off the planet and into the void. 

But he’s better now. He doesn’t have to drag Brian down anymore. He can handle it. Just like he used to have to handle being around Brian all the time. He can handle anything. He’s a fucking success, and he can deal with the object of his obsession getting married to a woman. He’s that big a person now. 

“It’s their wedding.” Gerard says like that explains everything, and Brian nods because it does. 

“If you’re sure.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Brian.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s my job.”

“Well, consider this a paid vacation.” 

Brian rolls his eyes. Yeah, Gerard didn’t think that one would work, either.

“Thanks for the coffee.” 

“You’d’ve stolen it anyway,” Brian says with a smile. It’s his first smile of the morning and it’s only a little annoyed which means that, Jamia aside, it’s probably going to be a pretty awesome day.

“Yeah, but still, thanks.” 

Brian doesn’t answer. He gives Gerard’s leg a quick squeeze and then moves both to the floor so he can stand up. He gets all the way to the door of Gerard’s office before he turns from Brian the awesome human being back into Brian the competent-bordering-on-genius office manager. “Someone has to leave here with Godzilla before eleven. So get out there as soon as you can, or Cortez’ll get here and try to reattach the tail on his own.”

Matt was a great intern but he was still an intern, and the last time he tried something like that alone, they’d had to redo the entire back half of a to-scale Persian cat. “Fuck.”

“I’ll send out for more coffee,” Brian promises, holding the door open so that Gerard can barrel through it. 

“Seriously,” Gerard calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the Godzilla cake, “I freaking love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Your love is cheap,” Brian calls from his desk. 

There’s a pause, and then Blue Oyster Cult’s “Godzilla” echoes across the room through the house speakers that Ray brought from home and insisted they put up when they moved out of the ghetto kitchen back in Newark and into this building. Gerard laughs so hard his face hurts. It’s kind of perfect, and Brian, of course, gets it. 

~*~*~

Gerard likes Jamia. He’s always liked Jamia. That’s half the fucking problem, how very much he likes Jamia. She’s about twenty-seven million kinds of awesome and he can see so clearly why Frank loves her, but it’d be so much easier to lust over Frank if she wasn’t so great.

She’s sitting in his office now, staring at the pictures of finished cakes on the wall. He doesn't usually do one-on-ones. Brian usually gets it all first (picture, concept, drawings, whatever) and then Gerard and the rest of the guys get to work on design, logistics, and application. But occasionally, for a friend or a particularly complicated order, Gerard’ll do it himself. 

“We promised my mom we’d do traditional tiers, but that’s not really us, you know?” 

Gerard nods, sketching a basic wedding cake on the order form. There’s about fifty thousand different places they could take it to so that it’s not just a boring white cake that’s the antithesis of Frank and Jamia. “Do you have a theme or anything?”

“Well, we’re getting married right before Frank’s birthday so, we’re leaning towards Halloween, but if we take it too far, I don’t think our parents would recover. I’m kind of looking for a happy medium.”

Gerard nods. “Pumpkins? Ghosts? Black cats?” The scorpion on Frank’s neck? The lettering on Frank’s fingers?

“Not exactly romantic,” she sighs. “I know its last minute, but I’d still like something a little romantic. A spooky love story.”

Gerard looks up from the paper at her bright, excited face, at her Edward Scissorhands t-shirt, and the answer is so obvious it’s kind of ridiculous. He tucks his pencil behind his ear and asks “What’re your thoughts on Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“Jack and Sally instead of a bride and groom?” she asks, and see? She’s fucking awesome. He really wishes she would stop it. 

“Exactly.” He pulls the pencil down and starts to draw. “We can paint a different part of Halloween Town on the each tier of the cake. If you can get me some family pictures, I might could turn some of the wedding party into characters.” 

“You’re a genius. I mean, I knew you were but, God, it’s so perfect.” She beams at him, leaning over to get a better look. “I didn’t even know to want that.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything.”

She leans forward a little farther and presses a kiss to Gerard’s cheek. “You will,” Jamia declares before sitting back. “Just give us an estimate and if we can cover it-“

“We’ll take care of it.”

“But-“

“Jamia,” Gerard sighs, “You and Frank are friends. Consider it a wedding present.”

“You can’t do that. I checked your website. A cake like this-“

The man hours and precision alone, especially as Gerard’s going to have to do pretty much everything more complex than the background himself, would put a cake like this in the ballpark of at least five grand. Maybe more. Brian usually helps him get the estimate. 

“It’s for your wedding. So let us do this for you, okay?”

“If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

Jamia looks abashed but pleased, and she nods in surrender. She and Frank aren’t financially on par with the New York middle class and elite that tend to buy from Umbrella Academy, and they both know it. “You have to let me buy the groom’s cake.”

Gerard nods. He understands pride; he’s got more than his fair share. It’s gotten him in a fuckton of trouble over the years, but it’s taught him when to respect someone else’s. “Do you know what he wants?”

“I didn’t ask him. It’s a surprise. But I brought this.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded picture of Frank holding a guitar. Frank had told him once that he played, but Gerard’s never heard him or seen him with one. It’s from maybe five years ago, and he’s stupidly hot. 

Jamia taps the neck of the guitar Frank’s holding with her index finger, bringing Gerard back to the conversation. “Do you think you can do a small replica of that?”

“The guitar?” 

“Yeah. It’s his favorite.”

“Yeah, of course.” They’ve done couple of guitars before. Well, a couple of guitars and a bass, as Ray feels the need to point out every time it comes up. They all came out really well. 

Ray plays, and the last time a guitar order came through, he figured out how to get edible strings on the guitar and make it almost playable. It was fucking brilliant, and Gerard knows that he’s going to bat this one over to Ray.

She looks at him with stars in her eyes. Like he’s made her day. Like he’s made her wedding. “You’re a rock star, Gerard Way.” And Gerard just nods, pretending like he agrees with her. 

~*~*~

Occasionally, a cake comes through that Gerard gets a little obsessed with. The last time it happened was on the Batmobile birthday cake. Gerard had taken control of the project and leapt rather than fell overboard. 

He wore a cape and cowl to work, and he might have made Mikey wear the Robin mask. He hummed the Batman theme and called Brian Alfred until Brian threatened to gag him. Then he’d stopped because he knew Bob and Worm would’ve helped Brian follow through. After that, he kept the theme music in his head but didn’t take off the mask, and every now and then he’d come up behind one of the guys and say “I’m Batman” in his best raspy Christian Bale impression.

That was a few years ago. He’d been newly sober, jittery and on edge, so the guys let him get away with a lot, but it was still one of his favorite weeks ever. Mikey had had to drag him out of the old Newark bakery by his fingernails, he was so immersed, and it came out looking fucking amazing to boot. 

They have twenty-eight cakes this week. And one of them is, to quote Brian quoting the customer, “a goth fairy cake.” She wants actual, 3-D goth fairies flying around the cake, which is such a cool concept that Gerard can barely deal. 

He takes the concept home with him, turning it over and over. By the next morning, he has a detailed sketch, plan, and list of demands. He hands the list to Brian with a grin when he walks in. He watches with a bit of sadistic pleasure as Brian looks down at the paper, up at him, and plants his forehead on his desk.

Gerard ruffles his short hair. It’s soft and warm, and Gerard tries really not to laugh when Brain curses at him. 

“Come on. If you believe in fairies, clap your hands, Brian.” 

Brian lifts his head, and Gerard’s hand falls onto Brian’s neck. The side of his thumb rests for a just split second against the tattoo there before Gerard pulls back. 

“I hate you so much.”

“Don’t mock my creative process. Just get me the wings.”

“It’s an accident waiting to happen. You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do. I need them to live. Wings, Brian. Wings for everyone. Oh, and glitter. Get glitter too.”

“I’m not getting you glitter,” Brian declares as the front door opens.

“What’s wrong with the silver and gold sugar powder Worm’s got in the back?” Ray asks as he and Mikey walk in. He’s pulling his hair back with a rubber band as he walks in, and Gerard makes a mental note to ask Ray to borrow one. He always forgets to tie his hair back before coming in to work. It’s shoulder length and doesn't come near Ray’s frizz, but the health code’s there for a reason, as Brian likes to remind them all. Nothing kills a party like hair in a cake. “Why do we need glitter?”

“Because Gerard’s fucking crazy.”

“That’s not an answer,” Mikey points out. Gerard tries to be offended. Really he does. But he’s way too excited about the fairy wings and glitter and cake. 

“It’s fairy cake week,” Gerard declares, beaming. “Wings for all.”

Mikey grins. “Cool.”

“I’m not wearing wings.”

“You have to, Ray. It’s a theme. Come on, it’ll be inspirational!”

“I’m inspired. I’m completely inspired. I’m going to work off that inspiration on the SpongeBob cake. You guys have fun with the wings.”

Gerard fixes Ray with really impressive puppy dog eyes. He’s been practicing them since he was about three. They usually work. “You never play anymore.”

“I’ll play all you want, I’m just not doing all this work in wings.”

“Ten minutes and a picture,” Gerard offers. 

Ray looks at him, then at Brian (whom Gerard doesn't need to see to know is rolling his eyes), then crosses his arms. “Five minutes, a picture, and you have to get Bob to wear them too.”

“Done.”

“I hate you all,” Brian sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“You can hate us on the train,” Gerard laughs, going around the back of the desk. 

He grabs Brian but the arm and pulls him to stand. He misjudges it a little, and Brian ends up almost on top of him when he stands, but it’s all the better for Brian to glare at him. 

“Lunch, Gee. For the next week for putting up with your crazy.”

Gerard smiles at him and this close, he’s betting that Brian can see his molars. “You like my crazy.”

Brian makes a huffing noise that Gerard chooses to take as agreement. He slides past and his arm brushes against Gerard’s sleeve, making the skin there prickle a little. 

“Don’t forget the glitter,” Mikey adds. 

Brian grabs the van keys off the desk, even though it’d probably be faster for him to take the subway or grab a cab, and flips Mikey the bird. He’s gone seconds later, and Mikey and Ray are both looking at him with expressions that he doesn’t really understand.

“What?”

Ray shakes his head, and his ponytail follows. “You’re a fucking idiot, dude.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“You are,” Mikey agrees. “A total fucking idiot.”

“Seriously, what are you talking about?’

“If you don’t know, then I guess you just don’t know,” Ray says with a shrug and then he’s done with it. “Bob’s not going to be happy about the wing situation.”

Gerard waves a hand. “Bob’s a kitten.”

“He’ll claw your face off,” Mikey points out, pulling his apron off the back of the chair he’d left it on the night before. “I’m so glad Brian’s bringing a camera. It’s like my birthday and Christmas at the same time.”

Ray frowns. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

“Go right ahead.”

“It can be our Christmas card,” Gerard declares. That gets him another funny look, although this one is more familiar, before Ray and Mikey walk away from him and towards their current projects. 

Brian gets back an hour later, right around the same time that Bob, Cortez, and Worm roll in. Gerard doesn't really have any hard and fast rules about what time work starts. He absolutely doesn't expect them to be there before him (even though Brian always is). Gerard lives less than a block away in a tiny studio that he only really uses for showering, sleeping and on rare occasions, cooking something other than cake. So long as everything gets done well and on time, he really doesn't care how.

Umbrella Academy’s his life. He lives it and breathes it, and it literally saved his life when things were at their very worst. If he could live here without it being an OSHA violation, he absolutely would. That’s the big dream, the next step up – a bigger space with an apartment over the bakery. 

But for now, what he’s got is a decent sized space in freaking Manhattan, a job he loves with his brother and his best friends, more cake orders than they’ve ever had (most of which are exciting and challenging enough to keep him completely engaged), and Brian Schechter proving yet again that he can do anything. All in all, what he’s got is pretty fucking awesome. 

There are a half a dozen pairs of fabric wings and a plastic bag hanging from Brian’s left hand and a cardboard cup tray of Starbucks in his right. There’s only four cups in the tray, and Gerard’s pretty sure there’s going to be a battle of epic proportions for possession of the lattes. 

Mikey employs guerrilla tactics, snaking a cup without a word and slinking back to his prep table. 

“Which one’s mine?”

“You didn’t ask me for coffee,” Brian says with a smile that’s almost evil. The lip ring, that’s what makes it more sinister, Gerard is sure. He is probably the only pastry chef in the tri-state area whose office manager has as many tattoos and piercings as the average rock star. He holds out his arm with the bag and the wings. “You wanted fairy wings and magic dust. Nowhere in that request was there any call for coffee.”

“It’s implied.”

Brian’s smile is completely unapologetic. “Sorry. I missed the implication. I just brought it for Mikey, me, Ray, and Bob. You know they were here until two helping you with the Noah’s Ark cake.”

“Of course I know. I was here, too.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“You’re a bastard, Schechter.”

“Just take the fucking wings, Gee,” Brian says holding out the wings and the bag. But he passes Gerard one of the cups of coffee, too, so Gerard doesn't smack him too hard. 

There’s a tube of liquid glitter and applicators in the bag, and Gerard paints across his eyes like skin-tight sparkle version of Cyclops’ visor. The wings are cheesy and flimsy gauze. They’re all in different colors and look like sixth grade Halloween party rejects, and Gerard loves them. He grabs the pink ones, Mikey pulls on the purple with tassels, Ray goes for white, Cortez grabs blue, Ray and Gerard manage to cajole Bob into the black ones, and Worm hides himself back by the ovens and pleads fire hazard.

Brian takes pictures with his iPhone for all of three minutes before they get back to the business of actually doing their jobs. Gerard’s working on sculpting his first fairy when the music playing from Brian’s iPod flips from the Smiths to the beginning of Gerard’s favorite Pixies album. He looks up from the fairy’s modeling chocolate face and grins at Brian, who doesn’t look up from whatever he’s writing with the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. As he falls into a working rhythm, Gerard can already tell this cake is going to be one of the ones he remembers. 

He doesn't realize he’s pushed through lunch until Mikey says his name and, once he’s sure it won’t ruin anything, gives Gerard’s shoulder a little shake. “Gee, you’ve got to come sign for this delivery.”

“What?” 

“Go, it’ll be here when you get back.”

“You’re working on the forest base right?”

“Yeah. But we’re out of almost everything, and if you don’t go sign for it, we won’t be able to keep going.”

“What the hell am I paying Brian for?”

“Brian’s on lunch break,” Mikey says with a shrug that makes the little ribbons on the wings he’s wearing shake. “He looked like he really needed a smoke.”

The mere mention of smoke makes Gerard want a cigarette, and now that he’s stopped for a second, he’s hungry too. He lays the precision knife he’d been using on the table and nods. “I’m gonna take lunch, too. Hold down the fort ‘til Brian gets back for me?”

“Yeah, of course. Just go get me some fucking chocolate. I wanna start on the trees.”

Gerard doesn't remember until he’s blinking in the autumn sunshine that Frank brings all their modeling chocolate. And he doesn't remember until Frank laughs that he’s got on pink fucking wings and enough glitter to fell a Care Bear. 

“Hey, Tinkerbelle.”

Oh, fuck. “Uh, I can’t bribe you into pretending you didn’t see this right?”

“No, it’s awesome,” Frank says still laughing. “Festive. The glitter makes your eyes, like-“ he makes an explosion gesture with his hands, “Big I guess. But you know Halloween’s not for another couple weeks right?”

Yeah, of course Gerard knows. It’s Frank’s birthday. And his wedding. He knows exactly when it is. “Sweet sixteen fairy cake for a girl in New Haven. Trying to get into character, I guess. Mikey’s wings are purple.”

“Fucking sweet. Sign here?” He holds out a clipboard and pen, and when he takes it back, he’s still looking at Gerard. “Seriously, Gee, tell me you took pictures.”

“Brian’s got them.” Gerard fishes in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter, to give his hands something to do as much as for the nicotine fix. “We managed to get Bob into a pair.”

Frank’s jaw actually drops for a second before he laughs. “The hell you did.”

“Mmhm.” Finally, he gets one out and lit, and fuck, that’s so much better. He’s about two hours overdue. “It’s probably gone viral by now.”

Frank laughs again. “You guys are insane, you know that? You ever looking to hire an extra set of hands, call me okay? Working for you has to be more fun than running buckets of paste all day.”

No, no, not in a million years would Gerard do that. It’s bad enough seeing Frank two, three times a week, sweaty from manual labor. But sharing a space, covered in flour and batter, sometimes six or seven days a week? Gerard would drive himself back to drinking.

But Brian picks that moment to reappear, deli bag in hand, so what he says is, “You’re on the top of my list.” 

“Awesome. You’ve got ten buckets of the white and three of the dark, right?”

Gerard nods, and Frank ducks inside with the first two buckets of modeling chocolate. He leans heavily against the wall, cigarette dangling between his lips. Brian moves to stand next to him, the deli bag held on the crook of his knuckle. 

“I brought you pastrami on rye.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You didn’t eat. No,” Brian says, cutting off the argument halfway through Gerard’s thought. “You didn’t. You won’t be able to finish the fairies today if you pass out from low blood sugar. Besides, I was already there. It was your treat anyway, and this way it’s a work lunch and you can write it off as a business expense. ”

Gerard flicks ash to the ground and studies the bag. “Swiss and mustard?”

“Have you no faith in me at all?”

“I have complete faith you, Brian,” Gerard says, his attention on the street lamp across the street. “I’d be a train wreck without you.”

Brian sighs and bumps Gerard’s knee with his. “No, you wouldn’t. Just take the damn sandwich before you faceplant.”

He would though. Without Brian, he wouldn’t just be a train wreck; he’d be a victim dying at the scene of the accident. Brian was there at five in the morning when Gerard showed up on his doorstep, drunk as fuck, high as a kite, and suicidal, and talked him down from the coward’s way out. He held Umbrella Academy together when Gerard was first trying to pull himself into recovery. He keeps everyone sane and makes sure they remember to eat and sleep and meet their deadlines. 

He’s amazing, Gerard’s always thought so. He’s fantastic, and he keeps taking care of Gerard. Even though Gerard doesn’t deserve it, he keeps on doing it. So Gerard’s been trying for years not to need it. 

Brian’s got to have better things to do with his time, with his fucking life, than to babysit an overgrown kid who never fell out of love with the Easy-Bake Oven he used to borrow from the girl down the street. And if Gerard could just stop needing him all the time for everything, then Brian could go do whatever it is that he’s supposed to be doing. He just hasn’t figured out how yet. 

For today, he can just accept the help gracefully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You’ve got glitter on your chin.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, right-” He rubs on his own chin to demonstrate. Gerard mirrors him and misses. “Here, just hold still.” 

Brian catches his chin in his fingers and rubs with his thumb. When he used to drink all the time, Gerard used to fantasize about a variation on this, where Brian touching his face ended with Gerard blowing him in the alley between the old Umbrella Academy building and the Chinese restaurant next door. 

Then he got sober and woke the fuck up to reality. Brian was one of his best friends, on the short list of people Gerard would kill and die for along with Mikey, his mom, Bob and Ray. You don’t fuck up an amazing platonic and working relationship with someone who is willing to literally save your life, just because they’re incredibly hot and you want to find out what the tattoos on his neck taste like. A sober Gerard can see that. 

So he took that thought and all the other sexy Brian thoughts, and bundled them with every other destructive addiction-driven impulse he could manage to metaphorically tie down. Then he’d thrown them all in a vault, boxed the vault and put the box in the back of his mental version of the Raiders of the Lost Ark warehouse, where they couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.

Right now, though, he’s tempted to go looking for the box. Brian’s fingers are soft and strong and incredibly distracting. But there’s a good reason why he’d filed that shit away, and he’s almost grateful when Frank comes back out and Brian pulls his hand away. Almost.

“Hey,” Frank says, stopping in front of them on his way back in with his second load of chocolate. His arms are straining and throwing the tattoos running up and down them into relief, and it gives Gerard something else to look at and think about than Brian and his hands. “You’ve got something,” he lifts his hand to Gerard’s chin and brushes it with a knuckle. 

Gerard blinks a couple times, smiles, then nods. “Thanks.”

“No problem. So’ve you got more of that glitter? I wanna try it.”

Gerard nods and opens his mouth to answer, but Brian shoves the bag at him before he can speak. “Make sure you eat that before you start working again.” Brian snaps, pushing past them and throwing open the door. 

Gerard and Frank both flinch as it shuts with a bang behind him.

“Jesus, who pissed in his cereal?” 

Gerard shrugs and looks down at his feet. He watches as the buckets lift and Frank’s Converse leave his line of vision. He sits down on the broken concrete of the sidewalk and opens the bag. The sandwich is still warm and it’s pretty much perfect. But it tastes a little like ash to Gerard, and when Brian won’t look at him inside, it sits in a heavy lump in the pit of his stomach. 

Mikey pulls up a chair next to him five minutes after he sits back down. He leans over and plucks at the fabric on Gerard’s shoulder. “Your wings are drooping.”

Gerard just nods, because really, what the hell is there to say?

~*~*~

Gerard is in love with the Nightmare Before Christmas wedding cake. Which is what he’s calling it in his head, as opposed to “Frank and Jamia’s wedding cake.” He’s blocked that element of it out, because the cake is the thing. The sum of its parts is so much more than the purpose.

It’s a fucking amazing cake, conceptually. He’s committed a lot of detail to it, and if he can get it right, it’s going to be spectacular in a totally different way from the 3D cakes. It’s the kind of cake that reminds him that once upon of time, he was a traditional artist, too. 

It’s also completely time-consuming. He hasn’t ever taken a cake with this level of detail that the guys couldn’t really help him on before. But there’s just no way. None of them have the drawing skill necessary – and that’s saying something, because Gerard is the first to admit that they’re all fantastic at what they do. 

So he has to bat all his other cakes for the week over to Mikey to delegate down. He’s never done that before. Not completely. He’s a little afraid that Mikey’s going to get drunk with power, and a little afraid that he’s going to be better at this than Gerard. But mostly, he doesn't have fucking time to do anything but trust his team and get to work.

He spends a solid day planning. It’s technically a four tier cake, each tier a different part of Halloween Town. The top tier is going to merge with the third and slope up into the curling hill where Jack and Sally end the movie. 

It’s one of the few parts that he can delegate, and he goes straight to Bob for it. He can do the delicate curls at the end of the hill, Gerard has no doubt.

“Halloween Town, Gerard style,” Bob says when he looks at the initial sketch. “We’re gonna need more black food coloring. You told Brian?”

He has, and Bob nods and that’s it. That’s the last conversation he has about the cake before diving in. 

He’s halfway through covering the second tier in fondant when _This is Halloween_ echoes across the bakery. He chuckles a little and looks up from the cake. Brian gives him a nod before he turns his attention back to whatever paperwork’s got his focus.

He has the first three levels entirely covered, if not connected, when it occurs to him to sculpt the locations – the slime fountain, the town hall, Oogie Boogie’s Lair, the Scientist’s Tower. It’ll all mesh with the hill on top and make the whole thing more cohesive. He wants to make them out of gum paste and modeling chocolate and plant them on the various levels. Ray’s hip deep in the guitar cake, but Mikey and Bob look at him like he’s grown a second head.

“I just think it’d be cool. Tie it all together, you know.”

“The wedding’s Saturday,” Bob says, his arms folded. “This is Wednesday night.”

“I can do this.”

“Gee,” Mikey says, quiet, trying to be kind. “Gee, I don’t think you have time. We’ve got more than twenty other cakes to put out this week and we’ve already lost you to F- to the Nightmare cake.”

“We just don’t know if you’re going to be able to finish if you do this,” Bob says.

“Have I ever not finished a cake before?”

“Sober?”

Gerard glares daggers at his brother. If he could kill with his brain, Mikey would be so very dead right now. “You can go fuck yourself, Mikeyway. That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

“You haven’t,” Bob says, cutting into the conversation before it can devolve into a wrestling match that none of them have time for. 

“I can do this.”

He watches Mikey and Bob share a look. Then Mikey plants his hands on his hips and says “I’m telling Brian.”

“Fine. Fucking tell Brian,” Gerard hisses, angry and stung. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. None of it. “He’s not my boss. He doesn’t tell me what to do. This is my shop. I know that we all forget that, but it’s mine. I fucking bled into this place. So tell him whatever the hell you want. Just tell me if you’re going to help me or not.”

There’s a long, tight silence that stretches between the three of them. The sound of Mikey’s footsteps on the cement floor breaks it when he walks away, and Gerard feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

“Have you got pictures?” Bob asks finally.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got it. Just tell me which ones you want me to do.”

It’s an epic snowballing roll down into hell from there. Mikey forgives him and they’re talking, but there’s an ugly tension in that lingers in air, and it’s throwing everyone off. 

Gerard pretty much moves into his office. He’s up and working before Brian gets there in the morning, headphones firmly in place, iPod on. He’s there after everyone else leaves. He’s been in the same set of clothes for two days. He’s running on coffee and whatever food’s in the office fridge (when he remembers to eat at all), and he hasn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a stretch all week.

He’s painting Frank’s dad as the Mayor on Friday morning (if you can call it morning when it’s still dark outside) when a hand touches his hair. He freezes, every muscle in his body tight and defensive, and his hand jerks back from the fondant reflexively. And then he catches the edge of Brian’s jacket out of the corner of his eye, and some of tension drains out of him.

Gerard holds still as Brian’s fingers card through his hair, and then it hits him what Brian’s doing. His hand holds Gerard’s hair gathered at the base of his neck and ties it off with a rubber band that he secured from God knows where, and all Gerard can do is sit there.

When he’s done, Brian rests his hand on Gerard’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Maybe it’s because he’s so fucking tired, or maybe it’s all the caffeine, but Gerard’s breath catches for a second and gets stuck between his ribs. 

“You hair fell,” Brian says, his thumb rubbing small unconscious circles on Gerard’s shoulder blade through his shirt. The touch prickles Gerard’s skin so much he has to put the paintbrush down on the prep table so he doesn’t drop it. “It would’ve gotten in the food coloring.”

Gerard takes a deep breath, looks up, and dear God. Fucking Brian fucking Schechter is looking at him with concern and affection and … Goddamnit, Ray and Mikey were right. He’s a fucking idiot. World class, grade A, top of the line fucking idiot. 

He can’t breathe. He can see the top secret, well hidden box in his head opening, and his heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest and spray the cake with blood. But all he manages is “Thanks,” which is so many different kinds of not enough.

Brian tilts his head and ducks down a little so that their faces are closer together. If Gerard stood up just a little, he could kiss him. 

“Have you slept?”

“Maybe?”

Brian frowns. “Gerard-“

He lifts his hand without thinking and cover’s Brian’s. “I’m fine”

“Go home.”

“This is due tomorrow,” Gerard says, but Brian’s thumb moves to cover the web of skin between his thumb and index finger, and Gerard knows he’s going to fold like lawn furniture.

“If you pass out, it’s not going to get done. Look, at least go lay down in your office for a few hours.”

“What time’s it?”

Brian doesn't even glance at his watch. “It’s almost five.”

Almost five? He knows for a fact that Brian didn’t leave until Mikey and Cortez did at nine last night. “What the hell are you even doing here, Brian?” 

“You’d cut your fingers off if I left you without adult supervision for too long,” Brian says with a shrug. Like it’s nothing. Like the time and energy that Brian pours into this place, into Gerard is fucking _nothing_. 

But his thumb doesn't stop moving on Gerard’s skin. He could very easily get addicted to the sensation. It’s the best thing he’s felt since his last drink five years ago. 

“I was painting,” Gerard says. It’s completely insufficient and not at all what he wanted to say. He wanted to say something about the way Brian’s skin felt or how he fucking loves him for this, for everything, for just being Brian. 

“You’d manage somehow,” Brian says with a smile that’s infectious.

Gerard has to smile back. It’s the first real smile he’s had since he started planning on the Nightmare cake. “I’ll go lay down on the couch. Wake me at ten?”

“Yeah. So long as you promise to sleep.”

“I don’t think I’ll have a choice. I’ve got a pretty bad case of inertia.”

“Go on then. I’ll cover this for you so it doesn't dry out.”

Gerard licks his lips and squeezes Brian’s hand. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

“Go sleep. You’re delirious.”

“Brian, seriously-“

“Go now or I’ll drag your ass over there. Don’t make me do that. It’s early and I don’t fucking want to.”

Gerard nods, pushes back his chair and stands. Brian pulls his hand away which sucks. God, it sucks a lot. Gerard gets all the way to the door of his office before he stops. “Brian?”

“What?”

“Will you go to Frank’s wedding with me?”

Brian sighs and buries his hands in his pockets. “We’re all going anyway, Gerard. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“No, I mean. I’ve got a plus one. Will you go with me?” 

Brian’s face falls into an expression that Gerard doesn't quite understand, but he nods. Gerard grins. 

“Yeah. Sure. I’ve got your back.”

Gerard opens his mouth to say something, but Brian’s turned his back and it dies in his throat. The set of Brian’s shoulders as he makes his way to his desk is … it’s not good. It’s not what Gerard was aiming for by a mile. 

But Brian’s right, he’s too tired to really deal with it now, so he snaps his mouth shut and does as Brian says and crashes out on the couch. He doesn't even complain when Brian waits until eleven to send someone in to wake him.

~*~*~

The wedding was beautiful and surprisingly traditional, and the reception is a swirl of sound and music and people, with Frank and Jamia at the center. Gerard stands outside the reception hall, lit cigarette dangling between his fingers, and thinks that the cakes are probably the only indication of Frank and Jamia’s true personalities in the whole wedding. 

That makes him kind of sad. But that’s really the only thing about tonight that hurts him, and that blows his fucking mind. It’s easy. He didn’t expect that. 

He thought it’d be hard, to watch Frank stand up there with Jamia. But from the moment he, Bob, and Mikey set the Nightmare cake down in the reception hall an hour before the ceremony, he’s felt light, giddy. High almost. 

Gerard’s fucking happy for them. It’s crazy, but he really is. The sting that was needling at him through the build up to this night is completely gone. Yeah, he would still fuck the tattoos right off of Frank, and he still hits this button in Gerard’s chest that expands into a tiny ache. The difference is that now it’s a good ache, like watching your favorite movie star. But that’s it. It’s so anticlimactic he’s almost disappointed. 

Now he’s enjoying the safety of being just another guest. Well, he’s “the cake guy” guest but still. He’s fine. He’s better than fine actually, especially now that he’s out of the crush of people inside the hall. He can’t breathe in there.

The air outside is cold. The suit jacket he’s wearing is insufficient, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a beautiful night, and he’s fucking weightless until a hand on his shoulder pulls him back down to the ground. 

“You got another one of those?” Brian asks, gesturing at the cigarette in Gerard’s hand.

“Yeah,” Gerard says, and he tries hard not to stare. Brian in a sharp blue suit is slightly more climactic than the whole wedding situation. As in, Gerard wants to have one, preferably after getting the suit off Brian. 

It’s so fucking strange, thinking about Brian like this after so many years of forcing himself not to. He remembers feeling kind of like this about Brian before, but most of it is under a chemical screen that blurs his recollection. 

Then in those first days of being sober, his attraction had taken on the sharper, desperate, unhealthy edge that all his bad choices carried back then. Brian was a life raft and Gerard was drowning. Of course he felt drawn to him back then. But he did a lot of reading and that shit was like … transference or something, a weird addiction version of Florence Nightingale syndrome. 

This isn’t like that. This is solid, like pulling back carpet and finding hardwood floors that have always been there. It’s the difference between dry land and rough seas, and it could be really real. So he’s scared shitless. Nothing new there. 

“The cake’s a hit,” Brian says around the filter of the cigarette. “You really pulled it off. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah. It was kind of touch and go there for a second huh?”

Brian shakes his head and exhales, tipping his head back a little to blow smoke upwards instead of into Gerard’s face. “No. It got intense, but it wasn’t touch and go. You were always gonna finish on time.”

Fucking there it is again, that feeling of air being stuck in his chest and clawing to get out. What the fuck did he do to deserve that kind of faith? Seriously what? He has no idea so he just shrugs. “Too stubborn for anything else, I guess.”

Brian smiles, and Gerard misses the lip ring. He’s taken it out for the wedding, and it’s not quite a Brian smile without it. “Too much effort. You put everything into that cake. I’ve never seen you work that hard.”

Gerard says nothing to that. He’s not sure what to say because everything feels wrong, so he buys himself time by dropping his spent cigarette to the ground and starting a new one. 

“I don’t get how you can put so much work into something and then give it away,” Brian says finally. 

Gerard frowns. “I’ve been giving them away for years, Brian.”

“Not like this.”

Gerard sighs and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. They’re not talking about work anymore. He’s not sure when that happened, but this definitely isn’t about the cake. “I don’t know. I have to. Besides, there’s always more to do, you know?”

“I just don’t know if I could do it. It’s like giving away a piece of yourself and you don’t get anything back. Not really. That just …” Brian shrugs and takes another drag. “It seems like it fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, but giving it is the whole point you know? I mean, the money’s mostly so I can keep giving them away.”

“Yeah, I know. It just doesn’t seem like it can be enough.”

“What would be enough?” Gerard asks. He watches Brian’s face, because this is important. 

Brian licks his lips and looks away for a second before meeting Gerard’s gaze. “I don’t know. They’re never really yours. So, something that stays, I guess. Something you could keep.”

Gerard moves before he thinks about it because, God, he really wants to keep Brian. If he can keep Brian, then he really doesn't need much else that’s his. He presses his mouth to Brian’s and wishes that the lip ring was in because it’s the only thing that keeps this from being fucking perfect. Brian’s lips are warm and he tastes like the cake and cigarettes and a little coffee. He wraps his arms around Brian’s neck, his cigarette hand stretched out away from Brian and the rest of his body pressed close. 

Brian’s hand is in the hair at the back of Gerard’s head, and he’s kissing back like he wants to crawl into Gerard and set up shop. Which Gerard is fine with. He’s all for that plan, especially with the way Brian’s teeth tug at his lower lip for just a second before returning his focus towards the play of their tongues. 

Gerard sighs into his mouth and moves to press forward when Brian jerks away. He’s panting, and his eyes are bright and manic like a speed freak on a bender. Gerard watches him shake his head before turning and escaping back into the hall. 

“The fuck?” Gerard asks the universe, but it doesn’t answer. It’s lame that way. 

His cigarette is nothing but a cherry and a filter; it burned away while he was kissing the fuck out of Brian. He drops it in front of him and steps on it on his way back into the party. 

He spends a good while looking for Brian until Jamia drags him onto the dance floor for an embarrassing and unnecessary display of how big a dork he really is. By the time he manages to escape her and the people who want to talk to him about the cake, he can’t find Brian. He makes his way back to the circular table that he and the rest of the Umbrella guys had commandeered and tries one last time. But Mikey just shakes his head.

“He left. What the fuck did you do?”

Cortez is over near the open bar trying to flirt with the bartender and Worm’s on the dance floor with one of Frank’s cuter cousins, so Gerard drops into the empty seat between Bob and Ray. “Do? I didn’t do anything.”

Mikey looks at him like he did that time Gerard tried to see if he could cook a soufflé in the microwave and ended up setting it on fire when he was fifteen. Only more disbelieving, with a huge side of upset. “You’re kidding right? He looked like he’d been hit by a truck.”

Gerard doesn’t get that. The kiss was good. It was better than good, it was world-rocking and he knows Brian felt it, too. “It wasn’t-“ He stops and shakes his head. “Did he say why he was leaving?”

“It?” Mikey asks. He scans Gerard’s face. Gerard’s not sure what he’s looking for, but when he finds it, he groans and pinches the top his nose above the bridge of his glasses. “Jesus, please tell me you didn’t make a move on him.”

How does he do that? Seriously, one day Gerard’s going to figure it out. And the day he does, he’s going to take the superpower that Mikey is wasting and take over the world. 

Gerard opens his mouth, closes it, then lets his head drop onto the table. There really aren’t words. He can’t actually tell them what happened. It’s way too fucking high school. 

Then again, high school might be appropriate, because Mikey reaches across the table and smacks the back of his head so hard it actually hurts. He yelps into the table. “Fuck, Mikey.”

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“Not cool, man,” Ray agrees, and Gerard lifts his head off the white table cloth to look at him. 

“What? I can’t be into Brian? Who died and made you the love police? I didn’t do anything wrong here.”

“It’s Frank’s wedding,” Bob says, the word _wedding_ holding weight and gravitas like Bob’s speaking for God Himself.

Gerard tilts his head in confusion. “Yeah, I know. I made the fucking cake, remember?”

“So you moved on Brian here?” Mikey is angry. He’s angry enough that it reads in the corners of his mouth and the slant of his eyes like Gerard’s only seen a handful of times in their lives. It makes Gerard recoil into his chair a little as his brother speaks. “When we’ve all been watching you pant after Frank for years? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“It’s not fair,” Bob agrees.

“You understand, right?” Ray asks. “You’ve gotta know about Brian. I mean-“ He lifts his hands, palms out in a broad gesture. He drops them in something like frustration when he can’t find the right words. 

“You’re it,” Mikey finishes for him. “For Brian. You’re fucking it. Since day one. He’s bent his life around being close to you. He put everything he had into Umbrella Academy, his life fucking savings.”

Gerard shakes his head, because no way has he been this big an ass. Really, he cares way too much to be that bad a person. “He believed in the store. He didn’t want it to fail just because I fell apart.”

“Jesus,” Mikey sighs again. He takes his glasses off, rubs his closed eyes and eyebrows. When he replaces them and opens his eyes, he fixes Gerard with a sharp look. “He fucking believes in you. Fuck the shop. It’s you. But you’ve been hard for Frank since, like, ten minutes after you got sober and Brian’s been stuck front row, center. What the fuck do you think doing that at Frank’s wedding looks like?“

Gerard can feel his stomach twist, because it looks desperate. It looks pathetic. It looks like a guy with an unrequited crush trying to ease the pain of having never been an option with a rebound. 

“His fucking heart, man,” Ray says, like he’s reprimanding Gerard for breaking a favorite toy or wrecking a car that isn’t his. Bob nods in agreement. “You know? His fucking heart.”

Gerard says nothing. Because yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows. He just doesn't know what the fuck to do now. 

~*~*~

The next week is the worst Gerard’s had since he detoxed. Brian doesn't come in to work until after ten (which on Monday is just late enough for everyone to start worrying that he’s dead in a ditch). When he does get in, Brian won’t talk to him. Or look at him. Or fucking acknowledge him in any way, not even when Gerard sits down on top of his desk and waves his hand in his face. 

Brian’s iPod spits classic Metallica, Iron Maiden, Megadeath, Cannibal Corpse, Slipknot and TOOL into the air. Gerard’s usually a fan, but pretty much every song is a musical reminder of how very badly he’s fucked up. 

The negative energy is infectious and corrosive. Everyone’s stressed. Everyone’s on edge. It’s oppressive and difficult, and after seven solid days of working in that environment, Gerard actually drops a cake sculpted to look like the Empire State Building. 

He trips, that’s all. He trips over an uneven place in the sidewalk on his way out to the van. Maybe on any other day in any other week he’d have been able to recover. But this time, his grip fails and it crashes to the ground with a wet splattering sound that makes Gerard want to hurl.

It’s completely unsalvageable. It took him and Bob two days punctuated with uncharacteristic fights from beginning to end to make it the first time, and now they have six hours to bang out a replacement. 

Gerard stares at the mess for all of ten seconds before he disappears back inside to his office. He shuts the door, drops to the couch and presses the heels of his hands hard into his eyes. 

Ten minutes. He just needs ten minutes to calm down, catch his breath and maybe cry. Just a little. As long as no tears fall down his face, it totally doesn’t count. There’s a rule. He read it somewhere. 

He’s only had about five minutes when the door to his office opens. “Fuck, Mikey, just give me five fucking minutes okay? I know. I’m coming.”

“Mikey’s working on rebuilding the base.”

The door clicks shut, and Gerard drops his hands to looks up at Brian. It’s the first time Brian’s spoken to him since Frank’s wedding and fuck, that makes him really want to cry. 

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m … No. No, I’m totally fucking fucked.”

Brian sits down next to him. His body is more rigid than it usually is when they’re close, but at least he’s there. Gerard knows it’s probably not the right thing to do but doesn’t care. He leans his head on Brian’s shoulder anyway. 

The tension doesn’t leave Brian. If anything it ratchets up a few notches, but he wraps his arm around Gerard anyway. Gerard blinks away the blurring in his vision. Fuck, he’s missed him. 

“You’ll be okay,” Brian says, matter of fact rather than placating. And that’s good, to know that at least when it comes to work, Brian’s got some faith in him. 

“It took us two days. Two fucking days. That’s almost eight times the amount of time we have now.”

“More like four,” Brian says with a hint of a smile. “You guys didn’t work 48 hours straight through.”

“Jesus, Brian. You know-“

“I know. Hey,” Brian rubs his arm and oh, God, this should make it better but it doesn’t, because all Gerard wants to do is kiss him. “It’ll be okay. Worm’s reallocated the chocolate chip cake from the Doberman, and Cortez’s started the detail work for the top, and I already called the client to let them know we might be a little late. You just have to get out there and do what you do.”

Gerard nods against his shoulder. “Five more minutes.”

“Okay,” Brian agrees and moves to get up. Gerard catches his knee. 

“Stay?” Wow, that came out pathetic. But pathetic is pretty apt for how he feels right now. 

“Five minutes?”

“Yeah.”

Brian nods, and Gerard sags into him. He hasn’t been like this in years, not since he got clean. He just doesn’t have it in him to not lean on Brian right now. He feels shitty about it, but that doesn’t make him any more capable. 

“You can do this,” Brian says, his hand coming up to gently hold the back of Gerard’s neck. “This is fucking nothing.”

Brian, being Brian, is of course fucking right. Compared with the things Brian has seen him do - start a company from scratch, keep it going, expand it, get clean, stay clean, get _well_ \- this is nothing. He can do it, he always could, all of it. Brian just helps him see that.

“I love you,” Gerard says, meaning it this time. Meaning it more than he has for anyone outside his family. Meaning it with all of him. 

Brian’s whole body goes tight. “Your love’s cheap, Way,” Brian says with a lightness that rings hollow to both of them. 

He squeezes the back of Gerard’s neck once. When he lets go and rises to his feet, Gerard doesn’t stop him. He gives himself an extra five minutes on top of that because his eyelashes are wet and he can’t see once the door closes behind Brian. He can’t go back out there without his gameface on. 

He’s got a smile on his face when he walks out into the bakery. It’s forced, but damn it, he believes in the power of a positive attitude. Or he doesn’t want Mikey to yell at him. One of the two. He’s not sure. 

It doesn’t matter. Everyone is gathered around a growing rectangular cake, and they’re arguing about the order of preparation. Gerard clears his throat and is hit with a wall of questions that actually makes the smile feel real. 

They can do this. The guys are invested, he’s done this once already, and Brian’s iPod playing Gerard’s favorite Smith’s album. 

~*~*~

The idea comes to Gerard fully fucking formed, like Athena from the brow of Zeus or whatever. It’s brilliant. It’s semi (hopefully)-foolproof. It’s sufficiently dramatic. It might actually be overdramatic, but if the past few weeks have taught Gerard anything it’s that Brian is even worse with subtlety than he is. 

He’s tried all the high school shit that has never worked for him in the past, short of a note containing the question “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” The direct approach isn’t really working either, because every time he tries anything even remotely physical, Brian either ignores it or pulls away completely. 

Gerard knows he’s right though. He knows because every now and then he’ll catch Brian looking at him like he did that night with the Nightmare cake. He also knows because Brian goes from Jean Grey to fucking Dark Phoenix when Frank shows up with deliveries every few days. It’s ugly, and Ray has started signing for deliveries when Gerard can’t get there in time. 

“His fucking heart,” he keeps hearing Ray’s voice say. It’s like a song stuck in his head, over and over on a fucking loop. “His fucking heart, man.”

And of course, that’s the answer. It’s so damn obvious, he kind of feels like a moron for not getting to it earlier. 

He goes to them all one at a time. He’s going to need all the guys in on it. While he knows Bob, Cortez, and Worm are going to be on board, he’s going to have to sell Ray and Mikey. 

He’s done it before. He stole them both away from music to come do food art with him, and that was a way harder pitch than a little cooperation. Ray’s surprisingly easy. Mikey, on the other hand, glares up at him from his seat on the office couch.

“You know that this isn’t enough, right?”

Gerard rubs the back of his neck and paces. He thinks better when he’s moving. “Yeah, but nothing else is working.”

“And you seriously think this will? Gerard, I love you but-”

No sentence started that way ever ends well for Gerard. That’s just a fact of the universe. Like that people breathe air and unicorns are awesome. 

“You can’t just jump into this. This is Brian.”

“I know it’s Brian. That’s the point. It’s _Brian_.”

Mikey sighs. “Yeah I know. It’s just… You can’t afford to fuck this all up just because you want to sleep with him, Gee.”

“I don’t just want to just sleep with him. I don’t want to _just_ anything. Jesus, Mikey.”

“Look,” Mikey says, steepling his fingers and pressing them against his chin. His mouth turns down at the corners, making him look tired and sad. “If it comes down to it, and shit falls apart, I have to choose you. You know that right? I have to choose you. And I don’t want to have to choose.”

Gerard freezes. “You won’t.”

Mikey doesn’t move except to ask “When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

Before he got sober. Years ago. They both know that, and Mikey doesn't need to drag it up. 

“I’m better now.”

“I know. I’m so fucking glad you are. But do you really think you should make your first run at getting back on the horse with him?”

Gerard runs his hands through his hair. It’s fallen again, and he doesn’t bother to tie it back. He’s thought about this. He’s thought about all of this. And it really comes down to one thing. “No one else was worth the effort.”

Mikey stares at him for what seems like forever, then nods. “Just be careful, okay?”

“That’s the point, too.”

Mikey’s right eyebrow rises above the frame of his glasses. “That’s more than one point.”

“It’s a three-dimensional concept. It can have multiple points,” Gerard declares. Mikey throws a couch cushion at him. 

It’s surprisingly easy from there. Cortez runs a lot of interference, enough that Brian is ready to strangle him to death. Ray and Bob get him out early pretty much every night, which leaves Gerard and Mikey alone to work. 

All in all, with Mikey’s help, it takes him three nights. It’s not that big, but the detailing is intricate and he wants to get it right. He needs to get it right. When he’s sure it’s done, he sends Mikey home, goes outside, and smokes his way through his entire pack on the front step as he waits for Brian.

He gets there ten minutes after six. Maybe Gerard is overtired, but in torn jeans, heavy coat and a faded Smashing Pumpkins tour t-shirt, Brian looks better than Gerard’s ever seen him. He drops his cigarette into the small heap of discarded butts and jumps nervously to his feet. 

Brian starts, then looks him up and down. “Jesus, how much coffee have you had?”

“Enough.”

“Gerard-“

“Come inside with me?” He holds out his hand, and Brian stares at it like it’s going to bite him.

“Gerard,” Brian starts again, but Gerard cuts him off. 

“Please? Please just come inside with me.” He shoves both his hands in his pockets and jerks his head at the door.

Brian’s eyes narrow. “Did you blow something up?”

Gerard blinks. “What? No. Just trust me, okay?”

Brian nods slowly, then heads inside. Gerard follows him, noting the cautious steps like he expects to step on a landmine at any moment. But there of course isn’t one, and Brian just ends up standing in the middle of the bakery, looking confused. 

“Gerard, what the hell?”

“Sit.” He waves at Brian’s desk. “I’ll go get it.” 

“Seriously, Gerard, if it explodes-“

“It’s not going to explode.”

“Good,” Brian calls as he sheds his coat and drops into his chair. His voice trails after Gerard when he heads to the back. “Because I’m not helping you clean up this time.”

“It won’t,” Gerard promises as he picks up his creation with careful hands and walks slowly back to Brian’s desk. 

He holds tight, because the last thing he needs is a repeat of the Empire State Cake. His hands are shaking only a little as he sets it down on Brian’s desk.

Brian stares at it. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

Gerard swallows and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a heart.”

“Yeah,” Brian says. His eyebrows are up by his hairline. “I can see that.”

“It’s anatomically correct,” Gerard says lamely, staring at the fist-sized cake sitting on Brian’s desk. 

The cake is, at its core, a hunk of Worm’s red velvet. On the outside, it’s sculpted fondant, painted dark purple-red. It’s lined with intricate veins and folds. He spent hours making sure that the chambers and ventricles looked right and he experimented with a dozen different glazes and frostings to get the shiny-wet look of a freshly removed heart. 

“I can see that, too. What the fuck, Gerard?”

“I was …” Gerard sighs and shoves his hand back in his pants pocket so he doesn't rub his skin off. “It was brought to my attention that I broke your heart.”

He looks up, and Brian has fixed him with an inscrutable expression. So he charges on blind. He’s good at that.

“And I thought …” he looks down at his shoes, because he really can’t bear Brian’s eyes right now. There’s a hole in the right toe. “I thought since I broke yours, you could have mine. My heart, I mean. If you want it. It’s yours if you want it.”

There’s an incredibly long silence. Eternal even, before Brian speaks. “Gerard.”

“I’m sorry.” Gerard blurts. “It was stupid and Mikey fucking warned me, but I just thought-“

“Gerard, stop.”

Gerard takes a deep breath and bites his lip. He is not going to cry or freak out or do anything stupider than this. He’s not. He’s going to stare at the hole in his shoe and try to close it using only the Force until Brian leaves. 

His Jedi concentration is broken by hands on his shoulders. Fuck, how did Brian get right in front of him without him noticing? Silent ninja skills is the only answer he can come up with.

“Tell me you’re serious,” Brian says. His voice sounds rough, like he inhaled smoke the wrong way. “Tell me, Gee, please.”

“I already told you,” Gerard says, tilting his head to the side, perplexed. He thought he’d been clear that day in his office. He had hoped he was more clear now, with the heart. But obviously he needs to say it again. So he does. It’s a pleasure. “I love you.”

Both of Brian’s hands are on his face, and a breath later Gerard is being kissed. God, it’s better than at Frank’s wedding, so fucking much better. 

This time the lip ring is there, hard and solid in contrast to the softness of Brian’s lips, which are trying to pull him apart and put him back together at the same time. Brian is kissing him, really kissing him and meaning it. And now Gerard’s hands are free. He can slide them under the Pumpkins shirt and feel the skin of Brian’s back, his sides. 

Brian groans into his mouth as Gerard’s fingers slide up then down his spine. Brian is pushing them backwards, and they stumble together, joined at the mouth and tangled, desperate limbs until Gerard’s back hits something solid. 

Prep table. Stainless steel, top of the line, and really just the right height. When he’s done kissing him, Gerard is going to commend Brian for making sure they got this exact model.

Gerard pulls back from Brian for just long enough to hop up on the table. He goes to pull Brian back into his embrace, but Brian is just out of reach, looking at him.

“Hey,” he says, smiling because he really can’t not smile right now. Brian-kissed lips seem to be predisposed to turn up. “You should come over here. The view’s better, I promise.”

Brian takes a step forward. He tucks a strand of loose hair behind Gerard’s ear, then drags his fingertips over his jaw. The smile he gives Gerard in return looks fragile. 

“Gee, I,” Brian stops and licks his lips. That’s fucking mesmerizing. He kind of wants Brian to do it again, but he keeps still. “I can’t just be-“

“Mine.” Gerard says, covering the hand on his face with his own. “You can be mine. I promise I’ll be careful with your heart this time. I didn’t know before. I wasn’t ready.” He pulls Brian’s hand down to his mouth and presses a kiss to the tattoos on his middle and ring finger. “I am now. I swear.”

“You don’t get to fuck this up,” Brian warns. “I can’t, okay? If you do, I can’t.”

“I’ll try really hard not to,” Gerard promises. He brushes Brian’s knuckles across his bottom lip, enjoying the sensation. “You’re gonna have to help me.”

Brian rolls his eyes. But he’s smiling. “Yeah, that’s new.”

“So we should be fine,” Gerard agrees. And then he sucks Brian’s finger into his mouth. 

Brian chokes and pulls his hand away. Gerard makes a small whining noise in the back of his throat and is rewarded with Brian’s tongue as a replacement. He locks his fingers behind Brian’s neck and his legs around his waist and moans into the kiss.

He’s hooked up a few times since getting sober, but Gerard genuinely can’t remember the last time he was with someone he cared about. High school, maybe right after pastry school? It’s no comparison to this. This is like being drunk, only it’s better because it’s sharp and fucking visceral. He’s so fucking present, and Brian’s here too. 

Gerard lets himself fall backwards and brings Brian down with him. His back hits metal. It’s cold despite the central heating, and he shudders a little, bucking up into Brian. 

The sound that draws from the back of Brian’s throat is amazing. He wants to record it, put it on his iPod and play it on repeat forever and ever amen. But that would require letting Brian go which is not an option, so he repeats the motion to make him do it again.

Gerard unlocks his legs and scoots back a little, forcing Brian to follow him up onto the table. Then Brian’s weight is fully on top of him. Fuck yes, that’s so much better. He feels grounded, anchored to reality like he always does with Brian only more, more, more. 

He wraps his legs back around Brian’s hips and pushes up into Brian. He’s pretty sure he could come from this, just this and nothing else, like a fucking high school kid in the back of their dad’s car. 

One of Brian’s hands has gotten under Gerard’s shirt and onto the skin of his stomach. His fingertips are a little rough, and Gerard slides one hand into Brian’s hair and pulls a little. Please, the tug says, please give me more. Brian working on the fly of his pants is more than a yes.

“That’s so fucking unsanitary,” a voice says, cutting through the endorphin high of sucking on the stubble-rough skin of Brian’s jaw. “We prepare food up there.”

Brian jerks back, and Gerard lifts his head to see who’s there. Not Mikey. Mikey knows better than to come in today. Mikey was also supposed to call the rest of the guys and tell them the same. But no, Bob is standing a foot away, arms folded over his chest. 

“Um, you have the day off?” Gerard offers, but it comes off as a question.

“Seriously,” Bob says, his face impassive. “People are going to eat the cake we make on that table. You guys need to not fuck there.”

Brian clears his throat and pushes off Gerard to stand on the floor. Gerard wants to whimper and grab him, pull him back. Instead he sits up on the table, feeling subdued but nowhere near guilty.

“We won’t,” Brian says, trying to straighten himself out. It doesn’t work. He still looks just this side of fucked. Gerard wants to bring him over to the other side. 

“We’ve got a cake due tonight,” Bob says, and Gerard’s heart drops down into his worn out sneakers. 

“The Murphy Ferrari cake,” Brian sighs. His brain is amazing. Gerard can’t think of anything but discovering if there are any tattoos under Brian’s shirt, but Brian can still focus on work. It’s really not fair.

“I think me and Ray can handle it.”

“Yeah?” Gerard asks, way too excited. He’s shit at playing it cool. But honestly, if Bob and Ray can take care of this so he can take Brian back to his apartment right now, Gerard is going to give them the biggest Christmas bonus of all time come December. Well, that he can manage.

“Yeah. You two should go somewhere else.” He gives them both a look that makes Gerard’s face turn pink. “Where we can’t hear you.”

Gerard hops off the table and flings his arms around Bob. He squeezes tight and then lets go, grinning. “You’re my favorite.”

“Seriously, get the fuck out.”

“Bob we-“ Brian begins.

Bob just shakes his head. “Out. Now.”

“You know I’m your boss right?” Gerard asks. “You can’t technically tell me what to do.” But he’s not arguing. He’s trying to find his coat, because it’s fucking freezing outside. It’s a block to his apartment which hopefully isn’t too much of a disaster zone, because Brian lives out in Brooklyn. If he has to wait that long to get Brian naked he may actually, for real die. 

While Gerard pulls on his coat and scarf, Bob puts the heart cake in a vacuum container and pushes it into Brian’s hands before they leave. He locks the door behind them and leaves them standing on the street. 

~*~*~

It’s a little weird, walking down the street with Brian after all that. It’s like things are normal, only their hands keep brushing and Gerard is still half hard. He can’t stop looking at the way Brian looks in the morning light. 

They don’t really say much until they’re inside Gerard apartment which, thankfully, is mostly clean. That is to say, there aren’t any messes that would attract insects, and the mountain of dirty clothes is confined to one corner. 

It feels like they’ve lost their momentum. Lost that moment they’d found in the shop, where things were smooth and easy. But they can get it back. That’s the point of this whole thing. They’ve got all the time in the world.

Brian looks nervous, though. He stands in the middle of the single room that is Gerard’s apartment with his body’s coiled like it was that first week after the wedding. That’s not okay. Gerard wants to fix that. He wants a loose, solid Brian like the one that was on top of him less than half an hour ago. 

“You should put that down,” Gerard says, pointing to the heart cake. “And come over here. It’ll keep.”

Brian bends over, sets it carefully on the ground, then straightens. He doesn’t come over. 

“This feels more real.”

“That’s because it is real.”

“Right,” Brian agrees. “Only I’ve seen this so many times in my head, it’s kind of freaking me out.”

That makes Gerard smile. He likes that Brian was thinking about him. He wishes that he’d been able to see sooner, that he’d been better, but still. It’s nice to know. 

“What did you see?”

“You didn’t give me a really creepy replica of a human heart for one.”

“It’s symbolic,” Gerard huffs. “It’s a grand fucking gesture.”

“It’s creepy.” Brian gives him a smile. “And it’s sweet.”

“Okay. So no heart-shaped cake. What was there?”

“There was you.”

Gerard holds out his arms. “Me. Check. What else?”

“You weren’t wearing a coat.”

Gerard unzips his coat and lets it fall to the floor with the rest of his laundry. He looks at Brian who is still too far away. “What else?”

Brian takes a few steps forward until they’re standing close enough that their noses are almost touching. Gerard could tilt his head a little to the right and be at the perfect angle to kiss Brian’s mouth. But instead he stands there, as close to still he can manage, and waits.

“Fuck,” Brian says. He cups the side of Gerard’s face and his thumb strokes over his cheekbone. It makes Gerard’s stomach flip. 

“We can do that.”

“This doesn’t happen,” Brian says almost to himself. “It doesn’t work out like this.”

“In your head?”

“In reality.”

Gerard leans into Brian’s hand. He likes it. It’s big and warm and it fits him really well. He intends to keep it. He can be really selfish that way. “I reject your reality and replace it with my own.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I totally can. Watch me.” He doesn’t wait for Brian to answer. 

It’s too easy to close the distance and press his lips to Brian’s. They feel as good as they did at work, only now if Gerard backs up a few steps, there’s a bed instead of a prep table, which is epic and made of win even if he hasn’t changed the sheets in like … a month. It’s okay. He hardly ever sleeps on them anyway. 

Getting Brian out of his clothes is like unwrapping a present he’s known he was getting but has had to wait months for. His coat joins Gerard’s on the floor and his shirt follows. All that skin and Gerard gets to touch it. He’s got hours to find out what it feels like with his mouth and his hands and maybe the side of his face, because there’s this spot just below Brian’s right collar bone that is, like, calling to Gerard. 

The pants are a little trickier because Brian is staring at him and wow, that’s pressure. It doesn’t stop him from undoing Brian’s fly and tugging his jeans down. 

“Step out.”

“Gerard.”

“Seriously, you’ve got to help me here, your shoes are huge.” Brian’s got on Docs that look like he could storm the beach at Normandy in them. “They’re like twice the size of your feet.”

“Maybe I just have big feet.”

“Awesome. That would account for the big,” Gerard grins, “boots. Come on. I’m doing all the work here.”

“You’re doing fine,” Brian says, but thank fuck he steps out of his jeans and kicks off his boots. They hit a wall and leave a black scuff on the white paint. Gerard is pretty sure he’s going to cut out that bit of drywall if he ever moves and have it framed.

“Fuck.” Gerard just shakes his head and grins at the mostly naked Brian standing before him. There are more tattoos on his chest, a couple on his legs. “This is so much better than it was in my head.”

Brian looks shocked. It’s not a great look on him. “You thought about this?”

“Off and on since the day we met. You were in a vault. In a box.” He waves a hand. “Cold storage, above my pay grade.” 

Brian studies him for a second and then laughs. “It’s not good that I understood that, is it? It’s a bad sign.”

“I think it’s fucking awesome. I also think I have way too many clothes on.”

“Yeah.”

Things move fast after that. Brian’s hands are pulling and fumbling in his clothes while Gerard tries to get out of his own shoes. He trips backwards lands with a thump on the bed, which knocks the air out of his lungs, and he can’t get it back because Brian’s on him, hands in his hair, tongue in his mouth before he can catch his breath.

He doesn’t usually like this part. The part before the physical pleasure overpowers his brain, where the lights are on and whoever he’s with can, you know, see him. It’s a vulnerable thing, and he doesn’t really like to feel exposed. He’s spent way too much of his life feeling that way, and it’s not usually pleasant. 

Brian though, Brian’s seen it all already. He’s seen Gerard after forgetting to shower for a week, up to his elbows in fondant with flaking frosting in his hair. He’s seen him curled in on himself, crying in his office after his grandmother died. He’s seen him shaking and throwing up with withdrawal.

Brian’s seen all the ugly parts of him and likes him anyway. Loves him maybe. Probably.

So this part, this time, it’s easy. It’s good. It’s fucking liberating. In fact, it’s gone beyond liberating and into sexy, which is awesome because Gerard very rarely feels that way. He can think of maybe, maybe, one other time and he was in drag, so it doesn’t count.

He reaches up and pushes Brian’s shoulder hard until he rolls off Gerard and onto his back. Better. He can work his way down Brian’s body easily from here. He can start at the mouth, slide down the jaw, suck a hickey over the character tattooed on the side of Brian’s neck, adding his own color to the ink. He can move down Brian’s chest, scrape his teeth over a nipple and feel Brian buck up into him. He kisses lower, over the hair on his stomach, into his navel and then pulls Brian’s boxers down and off. 

It’s been awhile since he’s given a blow job, but he used to be really fucking good at it. And he figures it’s just like riding a bike. A cock-shaped bike but still, you never really forget. 

If Brian’s hands burying themselves in his hair and pulling, hard, as Gerard’s lips wrap around him is any indication, he’s still got it. He hums a little in satisfaction and Brian curses. 

Gerard likes that. ‘Fuck’ sounds good when Brian says it like that, so he does it again and adds suction. He moves his tongue, stroking over the head, and Brian bucks up into his mouth.

“Gee, fuck, Gee,” Brian gasps. His hands tighten then release, like he’s trying so hard to get himself under control that he has to make himself let go. 

Yeah, that’s awesome. That’s so much awesome he can’t handle thinking about it, so he sets to work sucking Brian’s cock like he’d focus on a cake. It’s art, and Brian’s shaking body and filthy words are the final product.

It takes him longer than he thinks it should to get Brian to grab his hair again. He digs his thumbs into Brian’s hips and increases his speed and there it is. Tattooed fingers dig into his scalp and pull as he says Gerard’s name, over and over like a plea. 

Gerard can’t say no. He wouldn’t if he could. He lets go of Brian’s hips and lets him fuck his mouth and second later, the only warning he gets is a gasped “Fuck, Gerard,” and Brian’s coming. 

Gerard swallows because if he doesn’t he’ll choke. It’s not the best taste on earth, but Brian’s pulling him up by his hair and then kissing the taste away. Gerard thinks that’s fucking love, that Brian still wants to kiss him with come in his mouth, that he seems to want to kiss him more.

Gerard chokes a little when Brian’s hand wraps around him. He’s been waiting for ages and he knew it was coming, has known since Brian took his face in his hands. It still feels like being hit by a truck. 

It’s just a hand job. It’s nothing special. Except that it’s Brian, so it is. It’s the best ever because he gets to dig his fingers into Brian’s back and bite Brian’s shoulder and feel Brian under him. 

He forces his eyes open through his orgasm so that he can see Brian’s face. Then his arms give out on him and he falls in a heap on Brian’s chest.

“So,” Gerard asks as he drifts, “How’d I hold up against the me in your head? Was I okay?”

“Better.”

Gerard makes a small complaining noise when Brian rolls him off and moves to the edge of the bed. He didn’t even move to get a post-fuck cigarette and Brian’s going to move? Hell no. 

He catches Brian’s wrist before he can rise and turns on what he hopes is a good pout. “Seriously, you’re gonna fuck and run? After all that?”

“No, idiot, you’re gross. I’m getting a towel.”

Gerard surveys the destruction in his apartment. He honestly can’t remember the last time he did laundry. The last time he went home to Jersey so maybe three, four weeks ago? “There aren’t any clean.”

Brian rolls his eyes. “I’ll figure something out.” He lifts his captive wrist, presses his mouth to the back of Gerard’s hand, then pries himself free. 

Gerard flops back and watches Brian cross the small apartment in nothing but his boxers. He’s got more tattoos on his back. Gerard grins and decides to dedicate a decent chunk of time to mapping them all before he lets either of them go back to work. 

Something warm and wet lands on his stomach with a smacking sound and he yelps. It’s one of his t-shirts. A corner of it is soaked. Gerard makes a face but cleans himself up and tosses it back in the pile just in time for Brian climbs back into bed.

He’s got the container with the cake in one hand, a fork and a spoon in the other hand. “You don’t have two forks,” Brian says, sounding amused.

“Um, no.”

Brian settles himself against the wall at the head of Gerard’s bed. He holds out the spoon and says “I called dibs on the fork.”

Gerard takes it tentatively as Brian pops the top on the container. “You’re going to eat my heart?”

“It’s cake.”

“It’s symbolic.”

“What kind is it?” Brian lifts the container to his nose and inhales. His eyes drift shut and the look on his face is a lot like the one he had when he came in Gerard’s mouth. The longer he looks like that, the harder it is to stay upset. 

Brian opens his eyes which makes it a little easier to pull off being affronted. “Red velvet.” 

“Hell yes, I’m going to eat it. Red velvet’s my favorite.”

“I know.” That was part of what made this whole plan so perfect. Only, he hadn’t counted on Brian actually eating the cake. He should have, because the visual is a little disturbing. 

Brian sighs and holds out a hand. “C’mere.” 

Gerard just frowned. “You’re going to eat my heart.”

“You gave it to me. Technically it’s mine now. I’m going to share. It’s symbolic.”

“Of Aztec death cults and really bad HBO villains.”

“I want to share my heart-cake with you, Gee. Bring your spoon and get over here.” 

Gerard scoots across the mattress and settles himself against Brain’s shoulder. It’s exactly like normal. Only they’re mostly naked, and now Gerard knows what Brian’s come tastes like. And when he rests his head on Brian’s shoulder, Brian turns and presses his lips to Gerard’s hair. 

That doesn’t stop it from being weird when Brian digs his fork into the cake. It almost looks like its bleeding as he tears it free and brings it up to his mouth. 

“Damn,” Brian sighs. “You know sometimes I forget how good it tastes, it’s all so fucking pretty.”

“That’s Worm.” Gerard scoops out a bite and closes his eyes so that he doesn't have to see the wreck of his work. Goddamn it, it’s fucking good. “Fucker can bake.”

“Yeah, your recipes. When are you going to start believing people when they tell you how amazing you are?”

“I don’t know.” Gerard shrugs. He turns his head to press a kiss to Brian’s shoulder. “I believe you.”

“I’m a little biased,” Brian admits. 

Gerard grins and nudges Brian gently with his elbow. “Cause you love me.”

“Yeah,” Brian says softly. “Cause of that.”

They eat it quietly for a long time after that. They cut the heart pretty much in two, and Gerard takes the time to catalogue the tattoos on Brian’s chest in greater detail. 

He’s got maybe two spoonfuls left when he spots one he didn’t really notice before. There’s a hint on Brian’s side as it slides onto his back, almost hidden under his arm. He drops the spoon into the container and leans across Brian, because he wants to be sure that is what he thinks it is. And it is.

“Fuck, Brian.”

“Hm?” Brian’s mouth is full.

“You’ve got an umbrella on you.”

Brian swallows. “What?”

Gerard runs his fingers over the dark ink. “An umbrella.” It’s a black silhouette in relief against pale skin. Gerard wants to lick it. “When did you get this?”

“I don’t know. Six, seven months after you got clean? I don’t remember exactly. I did it once I was sure that Umbrella Academy wasn’t going to collapse.”

Gerard can’t stop touching it. It’s beautiful. “You have an umbrella on your skin.”

“Well.” Brian shifts a little under the attention which makes no sense. Not now. “Yeah.”

Gerard traces the outline, two, three, four times until he can do it blind. He looks up at Brian and traces it again. “You love me.”

“I thought you knew that. Wasn’t that what the cake was all about?”

“Yeah, but … fuck, Brian. Fuck.”

Brian smiles and sets the container on the ground. There’s still a few bites of the heart left, but they’re not going to finish it. Gerard can taste the frosting and cake on Brian’s tongue when he kisses him. 

“We can do that,” Brian says against Gerard’s mouth before pulling him down.

~*~*~

Winter is hell. Christmas is less than a week away, and Gerard has decided. It’s fucking hell. He’s going to boycott next year. Totally. He’s going to hibernate. Grab Brian, some comics and Chinese takeout, and not come out until Groundhog’s Day. That said, he’s pretty sure his brother is blowing it out of proportion. 

“Thirty-five cakes.” Mikey says, sounding shell shocked. He has the face of a man who’s just gotten a draft notice. “Thirty-five in six days. Fucking _forty_ next week.” He fixes Gerard with a pitiful expression. “I hate you.”

“Don’t hate me. Hate Brian. He takes the calls.”

“You can handle them,” Brian says without looking up from his computer. 

“No, no we can’t. It’s too much. I don’t have enough hands,” Mikey sighs. “All of us together don’t have enough fucking hands. If we drag Worm out of the back, we still don’t have enough hands.” He turns the baby harp seal expression on Gerard. “You need to hire someone to help.”

Gerard sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then stops. He’s got royal icing on his fingers, and now it’s going to be a sticky green streak in his hair all day. Fuck. “We can’t afford-“

“Yes, we can,” Brian says. “You’d have to put off looking for a new space until summer, but we can afford at least one more fulltime cake decorator.”

“See,” Mikey crows. “Your boyfriend agrees with me. So do Bob and Matt and Ray. Fucking hire someone before we rise as one and slay you.”

“I’ll think about it okay?”

Mikey points a warning finger at him. “Slay you. Like a revolting mob.”

“Yeah, I got it, Mikey.”

“I miss sunshine.”

“I got it.”

“And fresh air.”

“Seriously, you’ve been heard.”

Mikey glares at him with narrowed eyes. Gerard stares back, making sure his face is blank and innocent until his brother heads back to his prep table. He turns to Brian with a frown.

“You’re supposed to side with me. I love you. Does that get me nothing?”

Brian looks up from the keyboard and flashes him a quick grin. “Your love’s cheap, Gee. Mikey can kill me in my sleep. Bob actually might.”

Gerard actually does pout. “So, what? I’m just supposed to hire some fucking yahoo off the street?”

“I don’t know. That’s your call, boss man.”

That actually makes Gerard a little hot. He wonders if he can get Brian to call him that in bed. Probably, with the right incentive. 

Of course, he’s going to have to pull out all the stops considering the solution that’s just occurred to him. He steels himself before walking over to sit on the edge of Brian’s desk. He wants to be close for this. “Frank would be interested.”

Brian’s face is a mask, totally impassive and unreadable. Gerard hates that. 

“You think he’d do well?”

“Honestly?” Gerard asks. Brian nods. “Yeah. He’s enthusiastic and he’s sharp as fuck. But, you know, it’s just an idea.” 

He lets it hang in the air. Unspoken is the promise that if Brian’s got a problem with Frank and the crush Gerard used to have, Gerard won’t push it. 

The line’s been drawn in the sand and Gerard’s officially on Brian’s side of it. He’s worked too hard to get here, and he’s happy where he is. Insanely happy. So happy that he’s actually going to risk bringing Brian to Jersey with him for Christmas dinner to officially meet his parents. Fuck if he’s going to screw that up over something as simple as hiring or not hiring Frank Iero.

“You should give him a call. I think he’d do really well here,” Brian says finally. He meets Gerard’s gaze and there’s nothing sharp in the look. Brian actually means it. 

Gerard leans down and kisses him just long enough for Brian to reach for the back of his neck, but not so long that the PDA would mentally scar anyone. He presses his forehead to Brian’s and can’t help himself smiling. “I’ll call him after lunch.”

“You actually going to take one today?”

Gerard kisses him again. “Remind me?” He asks. “I’ve got leftover pizza at my apartment.”

Brian rubs the side of his nose against Gerard’s once before he pulls away, eyes dark. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Awesome.” Gerard says, hopping of the desk. “I’ve got to go finish the crèche cake for St. Jude’s before Mikey has an aneurysm. Come get me for lunch?” 

“I told you I would. Go be productive,” Brian says, already sinking back into his work now that Gerard is out of reach. 

Gerard heads over to the intricate nativity scene and studies it for a long minute before picking up a sculpting knife. From Brian’s iPod, _Making Christmas_ blares through the bakery speakers. The music wraps around Gerard like approval as he sets to work on the edible barn animals for the carved cake manger. He’s got a lot to do before lunch time.

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from both a french film and one of my absolute favorite songs on this entire planet of earth by British rapper/dj duo Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip. Scroobius Pip is a feminist, quite good poet, a very nice guy who I got to meet once and nearly fell over fangirling, and [this song in particular is magnificent and you should click the link and listen to it](https://youtu.be/ESvYRR1Fyug).


End file.
